


more than blood

by chidorinnn



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4169322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chidorinnn/pseuds/chidorinnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Libra discovers that his wife is the vessel of the patron saint of the opposite religion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	more than blood

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I wish happened in canon – in other words, scenes with Robin's spouse (if it isn't Chrom or Lucina) dealing with the fallout of the Robin = Grima revelation.

She stumbles back into their home in a daze. Her face is pale, drawn, and pink dusts her cheeks in a tell-tale sign of yet another fever. She’s overexerted herself again, and it’s obvious that recent events have taken their toll on her.

Libra’s hand brushes against her back, but Robin shrugs him away and sinks into a nearby chair, burying her face into her hands. “Are you all right, Robin?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

It takes surprisingly little effort to pry her hands away from her face. She looks so _tired_ then, her dark eyes refusing to focus. And Libra thinks, not for the first time, that he should have been there with her in that meeting room at Plegia’s castle.

“No…” she answers belatedly. When she stands, she sways unsteadily on her feet, and she raises her hand – the one with the Grimleal mark – to her forehead.

It’s not the first time she’s succumbed to a fever due to exhaustion and mental strain, and it likely won’t be the last – but her delicate condition now goes beyond mere illness. “It’s my fault,” she says in a quiet, breaking voice. She looks so small and fragile then, like she’ll shatter into a million pieces if anyone so much as looks at her the wrong way.

Libra can only sigh as he helps her sit back down. She throws her cloak off and begins rubbing the mark on the back of her right hand, as if to rid herself of everything related to that awful cult. It’s not the first time she’s worried about the mark – and especially what Libra himself thinks of it – and it likely won’t be the last.

“Please, Robin,” Libra says, taking both of her hands in his and crouching before her.

For the first time since before they’d left for that fateful meeting in Plegia, she looks him in the eye. “You should hate me,” she whispers.

“Because you descend from a Grimleal high priest?” Libra retorts. They’ve had this conversation multiple times before – the first when he’d first asked her to marry him and she’d protested on the grounds that she did not remember her past before joining the Shepherds and that it’s Grima’s mark rather than Naga’s emblazoned on her right hand, and the second when that awful Plegian king had revealed to her that she was his daughter.

She starts shaking again and she covers her face again. “Because I’m everything the Grimleal stands for.”

It’s times like this that Libra resents Lord Chrom, as sacrilegious as it is – for not letting him accompany her, for entrusting so much to her and refusing to enlighten him on anything beyond what is necessary for battle. After all, a lowly war monk like Libra has no place in political negotiations of any sort.

So Libra does what he does best – he heals her, or at least he tries to. He takes her into his arms then and pulls her close to him. Robin tries to push him away, but they’re weak, half-hearted things. Within moments, she’s sobbing, burying her face into his robes as Libra just holds her. He doesn’t say anything – what little words he can offer at this point would be useless.

When the tears stop and the shaking dies down to small, barely noticeable trembling, Libra kisses the top of her head. “That’s cruel, Robin,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

Libra shakes his head. “Did you really expect me to resent you? Over something for which you have no control… you know that I cannot.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

He rests his head lightly on top of hers, careful not to apply too much pressure and exacerbate her condition. “I asked for your hand in marriage because I fell in love with a smart, vibrant, beautiful woman. It did not matter then what your heritage was then, and it does not matter now. Blood does not matter. _Your_ blood does not matter."

“But–”

Robin looks up to him then, and Libra smiles down at her. “You are no fell dragon, Robin. Of that, I am sure.”

Robin buries her face in his robes again, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “Thank you,” she mumbles. “Thank you so much…”

And when Libra holds her close to him, she doesn’t push him away.


End file.
